Thursday, October 1, 2009

just an address

he told her she was beautifulso i felt ugly afterwards and wondered why had i always beenso soft?

then lydia came up to me and said something about paintinga picture in your head and i said thanks then she walked away sweeping her bangs back.

there were all these people in our house and there were all thesepeople at the cemetary too, the fog,we lied on wet blankets and listenedto bon iver. who is also talking to me all the time.

i am so small and fragile and homely and i keep writing thesame poem over and over again.

they say i lack confidence and it shows. it's always showing upall the time. and i'm always apologizing all the time. i'm sorry.

i'm apologizing for somethingmisunderstood inside of me because i only make sense to me.

what people nowadays don't knowis my adventurous side.

right now there are mason jarswith half an inch of cheap winemaking rings around the bottom.hollyn is eating potatoes.and jason is sketching imaginary portraits. brittany, sticky paper mache fingers. i'm looking up from my book thinkingabout how safe and literaryeveryone thinks i am.sylvia plath talking to me all the time.

but it was j.m. barrie when i was lyingin the round, soft stones of the beach,my feet in the mediterranean.

and it was kerouac all talking to me wheni showed up in oxford in the night, in the rain, alone, with just an address on a bit of paper.

and someone else entirely, maybe myself,when i caught malaria in west africa,

or when i hitchhiked in switzerland,

or in boston when i got drunk at an irishpub with my best friend coming home at 4am.

or when i slept in the brussels train station.

and i wonder why people think i'm not adventurous.

it's like painting a picture and sipping frommason jars and writing things down and being open.it's being dangerous and risky and happy and lettingthings happen and somewhere i put on the dress andcrown of maternal things and locked doors and goingto bed early which are things that matter but not allthat matters to me.

because being hopeful and brave and happy are sometimesthe hardest parts of my days and sometimes the hardest part is having sylvia plath always talking to me allthe time.